Codename Gemini
by Quills and Scrolls
Summary: When a pounding awakened Steve McGarrett on his front door in the middle of the night. He never in his wildest dreams thought the President of the United States and SECNAV would be standing on his doorstep. Or that they would be looking for his mother.
1. Shelburne

Disclaimer: I do not own _Hawaii Five-0_ it is without prejudice property of CBS, K/O Paper Products, CBS Productions (season 1–2), CBS Television Studios (season 3–), 101st Street Television, Peter M. Lenkov, Alex Kurtzman, Roberto Orci. I own only my own creations. No infringement of copy write is intended and will be removed if contacted.

A/N:

Summary: When a pounding awakened Steve McGarrett on his front door in the middle of the night. He never in his wildest dreams thought the President of the United States and SECNAV would be standing on his doorstep. Or that they would be looking for his mother.

Codename Gemini:

Prologue:

Shelburne

When Steve McGarrett had finally fallen into bed, after an exhausting case that had sent him trekking through Kauaʻi's Alakaʻi Wilderness Preserve, he hadn't expected to be awoken only an hour later to a loud banging on his front door. With as surprised grunt he sprung from the bed. Landing crouched on the floor beside his nightstand, the heavy reassuring weight of a SIG-Sauer in hand.

In his experience, those who knocked on the door…even at two-thirty in the morning…were not out to do any harm. People who planned to commit murder very rarely had the courtesy to knock on the front door. Regardless he held tight to the grip and padded quickly from his room. The drumming on his front door continued.

"I'm coming." He grunted, bare feet slapped loudly against the bare wooden stairs. "Hang on."

The person on his stoop either didn't hear him or didn't give a damn; because a heavy fist pounded loudly against the door so hard, it rattled the door. With an irritated curse, he chose to disregard the last four steps and simply vaulted over the banister. Landing easily on the balls of his feet, he covered the remaining five feet at a jog, pausing only for a moment to disarm the alarm. The deactivation setting had barely let a quite beep, when he flipped the deadbolt and yanked it open.

Steve had no idea who to expect on the other side, but it certainly wasn't the two men tramping on his mother's begonias. If Danny or Chin could have seen him at that moment, he would have never heard the end of it. Jaw gapping open, eyes bulging, dressed only in a pair of old cotton pajama bottoms. Standing before him were two men he had never once expected to meet. His gun dropped numbly from his fingers, smacking off the side of his bare foot before skidding over the threshold and coming to a halt at the feet of Thomas G. C. Samuels in full military dress, and standing next to him in a crumpled suit was Matthew Norris. The throbbing in his foot shocked him from his stupor. Protocol bred into him since boot camp had his spine straightening and his right hand raised in salute.

With twinkle of amusement glimmering in his eyes, Samuels crouched down, grabbing the firearm from where it rested on the welcome mat. "At ease Commander."

McGarrett let his hand drop slowly to his side.

"Sir…I don't…"

With a stiff nod Samuels arm out stretched offering him the SIG by the barrel. Dazedly Steve clasped the grip of the gun, and tucking it into the waistband of his pants.

"I believe we should hold this conversation inside, Commander." Matthew Norris spoke finally, in a strained voice.

Feeling like a complete moron, he jerked out of the doorway quickly, clumsily backing into the door and nearly upending the umbrella stand. "Apologies Sir, please come in."

Luckily, tonight Steve hadn't bothered with anything in the house, except tossing his keys on the end table and climbing up the stairs in search of his beckoning bed. So at least the living room was presentable, free of empty beer bottles it wasn't much but it was something. The bad thing, there was not a spare shirt for him to throw on. Embarrassed he scratched at the back of his neck as the two men crossed the threshold.

"Right please come in, Sirs." He gestured toward the pristine sofa. Peeping out the door before slowly closing it, he was surprised to find the men were without a herd of men in black suits and earwigs. He was at a loss at what to do. What did someone do when the President of the United States of America and the Secretary of the Navy paid a late night visit in the middle of the night? He doubted anyone would know what to do.

Fortunately, he wasn't forced to fidget uncomfortably for long. It seemed President Norris wasn't any more comfortable himself; he opened his mouth to speak when SECNAV held up a silencing hand. Before stepping forward, gravely.

"Commander McGarrett, let us skip the formalities shall we? Your address was transmitted to us by an asset," The Secretary of the Navy paused to scowl at the President, when the younger man growled threateningly under his breath. Brows hiked, Steve gazed back confused but held his tongue.

"As I was saying your address was transmitted by an asset," this time the President remained silent. "Before she was abducted by armed insurgents. Tell me Commander McGarrett whom or what is Shelburne?"

Steve's stomach lurched his jaw working silently as he searched for an answer. What would the Secretary of the Navy and the President want or even know about Doris? From the little he knew about his mother's fake demise very few people knew she was still among the living let alone back on the island.

Clearing his throat roughly, he rubbed at his forehead in vexation. "Shelburne? Sir, with all due respect, how does the SECNAV even know about Shelburne?"

Samuels rubbed a strong hand through his salt and pepper hair, regarding him speculatively. "Before the transmission was terminated, our asset was able to send us one last missive. And that was Shelburne."

McGarrett bit back a groan, rubbing his hands over his stubbled jaw. He had known Doris was back in contact with old 'friends', before Wo Fat had forced her to go back into hiding. Steve just never expected something like this. What in hell had Doris gotten herself into now?

"Sir," he began reluctantly, squaring his shoulder arms clamped tightly to his side. "I truly wish I could help, but Shelburne is not something I can disclose."

SECNAVS eyes hardened like twin icicles, and clamped a restraining hand down on the President's shoulder. Norris gazed at him with rage defining every line of his body, and SECNAV seemed to swell in indignation. For the first time in a long time, Steve McGarrett was intimidated. Thomas Samuels was a living legend in the Navy. He was who every SEAL had hoped to emulate. With a Navy Cross, a Distinguished Service Medal, and Silver Star to his name he was a hero. Samuels had single handedly saved one of his fellow SEALs carrying his injured comrade nearly twenty miles through scorching desert to the rendezvous point. Steve doubted that since his rise through the ranks that he was accustomed to hearing the word no.

"That is not for you to decide solider. Your Commander-in-Chief requires an answer." POTUS snapped, his face flushing a dangerous shade of puce. The placid, affable man Steve had seen on the TV was gone. Now he was practically vibrating in desperation. Somehow, Steve didn't believe that this 'asset' was only that. It seemed almost personal. A normal asset, no matter how skilled or important, would not lead the Secretary of the Navy least of all POTUS to fly all the way to Hawaii. Let alone without a Secret Service detail. This was no ordinary case. This was personal to one or both of them.

"Matthew," Samuels scolded gently stepping in front of his friend. Pressing one hand onto Norris' shoulder and the other to his chest. "We agreed I would handle this. So let me handle this."

Samuels's posture relaxed slightly when Norris nodded curtly and took a few retreating steps backward, resting heavily against the back of a lounge chair. "I admire your loyalty Commander, but this is a sensitive issue of extreme importance requiring immediate action." He declared solemnly, eyes boring into him. The desperation now plain to see in his eyes. "Now please son, what or whom is Shelburne?"

Steve knew that look all too well. He had seen it in every spouse of every service member that paid the ultimate price in service to his or her country. All they wanted was a few scraps of information, to know someone else cared. It was because of that look his resolve cracked, and in a reluctant voice he said, "All I can do, Sir is refer you to the CIA. They'll be able to tell you more than I ever could."

SECNAV tensed noticeably at the mention of the intelligence unit. "Unfortunately, Commander that proves impossible. As someone compromised our assets safety. And until they can be weeded out, this must never reach their ears."

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Steve silently warred with himself. The last thing he wanted to do was bring Doris into this. Hell he didn't even know where she was. As much as her fake demise had destroyed his family, he now could understand her impulses and the last thing he wanted to do was toss her into danger, especially with Wo Fat still on the loose and hunting Shelburne.

As it turned out, he didn't have too.

Behind him, the front door clicked open, and he instantly spun, around stepping in front of the two leader and grabbing the gun from his waistband and training it on the new comer.

Shadowed in the doorway was Doris McGarrett, dressed comfortably in a pair of worn jeans and a plain lightweight blue blouse, a large black duffle bag thrown carelessly over one shoulder, not looking for a moment that it was the middle of the night.

"Ah, I see I'm late to the party." Her eyes flickered to her son and down to weapon. "Really dear?" she questioned with light sarcasm. Steve groaned loudly, lowering the gun and pinching the bridge of his nose in annoyance. How in hell had she even known to come here?

Doris smirked slightly, a light summer breeze whistled through the open door musing her perfectly coifed hair. Really? _Jesus Christ_ who else was going to come barging through his door tonight? The Dali Lama or even better maybe Danny strumming a ukulele? Closing the door behind her, Doris moved confidently inside.

"Mr. President," Doris nodded coolly, "I assume you're here looking for Shelburne?" she questioned blandly, dropping her bag to the floor. President Norris gazed suspiciously back.

"Guh—Mom what are you doing here?" Steve bit out, scowling darkly at his mother. What in hell was she playing at?

Doris smirked back, tucking her hands into the pockets of her jeans. "Nice to see you too, dear. But we'll catchup later, hmm. Now, I believe you're looking for me."

"Uhm, Commander who may I ask is this?" President Norris question with deep suspicion.

Steve sighed, wearily. "That Mr. President is my mother Doris McGarrett."

Doris grinned at the three uncomfortable men before her. "But you can call me, Shelburne."


	2. The Wizard of OZ

Chapter One:

Part One:

The Wizard of Oz

_Forty-Eight hours earlier_

The Registan Desert was an extremely arid plateau in Southwestern Afghanistan located between Helmand and Kandahar Province. Known for its towering rust colored sand dunes some exceeding more than a hundred feet and its open rocky clay covered areas it was on very few vacation wish lists. Wind was another danger, with massive dunes the desert was a vortex of swirling sand, burying roads and submerging nearly a hundred nearby villages in windblown sand.

In 1998 a sever draught caused the displacement of nearly a hundred thousand nomadic peoples, forcing them toward the Helmand Rivers or into Kandahar and United Nations sanctioned camps. Registan was now home to about a thousand Baluchi and Pashtun nomads. Taking into account all the drawbacks its desolate terrain and it close proximity to Kandahar, it was still prime real estate to the United States Military.

Two hundred klicks southwest of the boarder of Kandahar, nestled amongst the dunes was small military base. Nicknamed OZ by the 208th Rangers battalion and SEAL Teams 1 and 12 that called it home. Forty-five people in the world know of its existence, forty of which were stationed there. With a security clearance level of Omega. A clearance level that was created by the Directors of the CIA, Home Land Security, The President, and the Secretary of the Navy, specifically to ensure the knowledge of OZ was limited to a trusted few. This OZ didn't have a gleaming yellow brick road, or a city etched out of raw emerald. No, instead they had sand, trailers and blazing heat. No Glenda or munchkins to be found here. But they did have bugs the size Volkswagens. For all it was lacking OZ did have one saving grace.

It had a Wizard.

And like their namesake, he/she was invisible to base personnel.

The identy of the man behind the curtain was a closely guarded secret. Only two people in the world knew the identity of the Wizard, SECNAV and the current head of Naval Intelligence; and it was imperative that it stayed that way. If an asset such as that ever fell into enemy hands, it would endanger millions.

Situated on the fringes of the camp, was what appeared to be nothing more than an ordinary storage room. At first glance. The three-armed guards that surrounded it at all times proved otherwise. Beneath the shell of the trailer walls was naval-engineered reinforced steel that was nearly three feet in width. Out of the roof, an eight-foot tall antenna and satellite sprung up like twin silver spires.

The home of the Wizard.

America's most guarded secret.

Inside the bunker, the Wizard awoke to the shrill chirp. Head jerking up off the desk and clasping the back of her neck with a whimper. It seemed for the past eleven months that she had a permanent crick in her neck. Spending most nights asleep at her keyboard, with nothing more than unyielding wood to cushion her head would do that. Wiping a line of drool off her check sat up, her back popping as she straightened up, she groaned. A twenty-five year old was not supposed to creak and crack the way she did. The monitor chirped again. It seemed her encryption algorithm had worked its magic. Spread out before her taking up the entirety of the far wall was a large desk. Shaped like a crescent moon, every available inch was covered in flat screen monitors the first of which was flashing. Scooting over, she wiped the sleep from her eyes; she rolled her chair forward tucking her short legs beneath the pocked wood. Hazel eyes still bleary with sleep blinked rapidly hoping to bring her eyes into focus.

Engrossed in her work the heavy pound on the door made her jump. On instinct, her right hand instinctively under the desk curling around the long carbon fiber bow. Using her legs, she propelled herself toward the adjacent monitor. Her left hand reaching back drawing an arrow from the quiver looped around back of her chair. People often laughed at her chosen weapon, after all, she was on a military base, and she could easily procure an M-16 or Glock. To her though the bow was an extension of her arm. She was utterly calm with the weapon in hand. The first time she had held a bow in her hands she been seven. After that, she rarely without it. That dedication had led her to Athens and Beijing for Summer Olympic Games in where she brought home two gold medals. As impractical as it was the fact remained, she had deadly accuracy with it. Anyone who tried to gain access to her castle could laugh all they wanted at the girl with compound bow; an arrow to the throat would quickly remedy that.

Eyeing the camera feed, she let out a relieved exhale and pressed the small button beneath the desktop. Rolling easily back to her station, she stowed her weapon, and slipped the arrow back into the quiver. With a welcoming buzz, the security door opened and Agent Robert Harper strode in. Wearing naval issue cargo fatigues and carrying plastic green tray from the mess, laden with steaming goodies. The smell of mac and cheese and fried chicken made her stomach growl.

With a click of a key, she brought up the screen saver, and smiled faintly at the idyllic beaches of Hawaii. Mentally reaffirming her promise that after this tour, she was getting off the main land and settling in a little house on Oahu. Spinning around she stood stiffly from the chair, joints creaking in protest and smiled tiredly at the man baring food.

"What time is it anyway? Oh thanks I'm starved." She accepted the tray he held out gratefully.

Harper rolled his eyes, a smirk ticking at the corner of his mouth. "Its midnight, kid. Knocked earlier, but you musta been asleep. For once."

He added the last part of that comment dryly. She ignored him; he nagged at her more than her own mother did, during their weekly Skype chats. You need to sleep more…oh look at those bags under your eyes…have you eaten today? Blah-blah-blah-blah. They meant well, but trying to carve out the time for bathroom breaks was nearly impossible.

Picking at the mac and cheese with her fingers she popped a noodle in her mouth, and shrugged. "No windows, and it's not like I can go for a walk around base. Moles see more sun than I do."

The last she had been able to go anywhere in the daylight had been eleven months ago, when she had first been smuggled into her cell at dawn. The closest she got now a days where her screen savers of the Hawaiian Islands. Which sadly for at least another few months, were far out of reach. Sometimes she missed the islands more than her family home. She had only been there once, but those two weeks had been glorious. Everything moved slower there, the locals—when you showed appropriate respect for their land—were quite kind. It felt like home. She may have been a Haole, born in South Jersey just outside of Philadelphia but Hawaii felt like home.

Oblivious to her daydreams, Harper sighed and smiled sympathetically. Leaning back against the lip of her desk. She fought off a wince, at his close proximity to her sensitive babies. She swore he did that on purpose, just to see her squirm. An ass, but a decent guy nonetheless. Harper was around her father's age a former Marine who served in Desert Storm. He was a gruff man who had served as head of Presidential detail until her deployment, and for the most part was her only human contact.

Sadly, she couldn't just introduce herself to the men on base. Not when it was so imperative that she remain a nameless, faceless myth. Truly, it showed just how stir crazy she going, when she craved idle chitchat about the weather, as she was normally quite awkward and anti-social. All she wanted was a few minutes interaction with somebody else, she didn't care who. Fact remained the same however; she would have to settle for being known just as 'The Wizard'. After all, she wouldn't risk an intimate tête**-**à-tête with the Taliban just to shoot the breeze about the weather.

"Sorry kid, nothing I can do about that. The only consolation I can offer is at least you get some fresh air in a few hours."

She snorted softly, moving slowly across the room to the small table situated against the wall beside her cot. The only time she was allowed out of the bunker was to use the shower, and even that was only every other night, and always right before shift change at 0600hrs. When Harper was on night duty, he would allow her a few extra seconds when patrol was running behind schedule, but that was as much as she could hope for.

Taking a seat on the rickety chair, she picked up a fried drumstick and bit into it. Swallowing she pointed the leg at him. "You on duty tonight?"

Crossing his arms across his chest, wrinkling his crisp shirt. Harper shook his head regretfully. "No, I have a SAT call with SECNAV. Danvers is on primary tonight."

She tensed, pausing in mid chew. Agent Martin Danvers was a towering six-foot seven-inch barrel chested man in his early forties, he looked about as cuddly as a possum and had the temperament of one to boot. But there was something more, for the past few weeks, Danvers had been on edge. She had noticed three weeks back, when he had been her night escort to the showers that he was fidgety and distracted. Constantly on his phone, but always dropped the call when anyone approached.

Catching her look of disdain, Harper sighed. "Madeline, Danvers isn't a bad sort. Maybe a little gruff, but a damn good agent."

Maddie rolled her hazel eyes in frustration. When she had gone to Harper with her suspicions, he regarded her as if she was a particularly petulant child rather than a twenty-five year old woman. Granted Madeline would admit that she was a suspicious person by nature. She had been burned far too many times before not to be, but that didn't mean her suspicion was misplaced.

"So you say." She remarked lazily, reclining back against the dingy white wall. Fighting to keep the sneer from her face, she grabbed up her plastic fork and stabbed at her pasta.

Harper scowled slightly, but held his tongue. As much as he dismissed her suspicions, she dismissed his conviction. He acted as if she had so much free time on her hands, that her mind was playing tricks on her. When a majority of her day was spent gathering Intel, hijacking satellite feeds, and remotely monitoring ops. The rest of her time was spent monitoring cell phone and even internet browser traffic in a three hundred mile radius.

Really, it wasn't as if she didn't have enough to occupy her mind. She had become so scatter brained lately that she had mistaken her moisturizer for deodorant. Therefore, the fact alone that she even noticed at all should have told him it was not just blind paranoia. On an instinctual level, she had identified Danvers as a threat. Maddie had meant to dig up some dirt, a few weeks ago but SEAL team twelve's op had gone pear shaped, and she spent the next forty-eight hours plastered to her monitors 'borrowing' a NORAD spy satellite that was supposed to be spying on Pakistan, to find her missing SEALs.

Maddie had been forced to endure a lengthy diatribe from SECNAV over Skype, after NORAD had gone whining to the Navy. She made no apologies you would think they would have been encryption, they really were asking for it. Had she been regular service she would have been court-martialed, regardless of the fact her 'lapse in judgment' had saved eight good men serving their country. The higher ups still treated her like a willful teenager.

Harper more so than anyone. Understandable really, when Danvers had been transferred to POTUS detail, Harper had been his mentor. Sometimes Harper forgot that Danvers was not the fresh faced naïve kid anymore. There was a darkness to him. Whether it had always been there or not Maddie didn't know she only met them both three years ago. Her perspective wasn't skewed by history or fondness.

Having sensed they reached an impasse, he sighed with annoyance. Eyes locked across the tiny bunker, she gazed back placidly, unrepentant. Harper groaned rubbing his gray eyes, wearily. He had known her even longer than there tour her in the land of OZ; he knew when her stubbornness refused to abate. Sighing he stood raising his hands in surrender and lopping toward the door. Pressing the release under the table, he exited the bunker without another word.

Maddie spent another ten minutes savoring her dinner, before she reluctantly sat back down at the computer bay. With only six window before SEAL team 1 reached Bravo site high in the mountains of Balochistan, she had very little time to waste.

Fingers flying across the keys, she set the latest encrypted data through her cipher algorithms, began the download on the newest intelligence picked up by the NORAD spy satellite (one she had legal access too) orbiting Kabul. Endless streams of data streamed over five of the six monitors, processing through a program she had designed scrubbing every code of viruses, Trojan Horses, and the like.

On the last monitor, Maddie brought up the thermal imaging for the Balochistan mission. Still by still she clicked through images a drone had captured. Maddie scowled, she loathed mountain ops, as the team had no choice but to go in blind. With thermal imagining unreliable, she could be sending ten young men into a trap. The very thought of it made her gut twist unpleasantly. Were that to happen, she would be powerless to offer any aid; and it would take hours of transport and traversing the mountain for backup to arrive. By then it would be nothing more than a recovery mission.

It had happened to her before. It had been during her time in Iraq four years ago, five months before OZ had been created. She had led a team of Army Rangers on a recovery operation in Fallujah, when suddenly voice command had cut out. Maddie could hear them, but they couldn't hear word one base. Later she had learned it had been an encryption error in one of the programs that had enabled the enemy to intercept her feed.

At the time, she had done everything, she could think of hoping to re-engage communications. She could tell them nothing of a group of hostels that were closing in on the West. They didn't stand a chance. She had been forced to watch as insurgents armed to the teeth, had gleefully ambushed them from behind. All Maddie could do was listen to the rat-tat-tat of machine gun fire, and the howls of agony as one by one the rangers fell. Somehow, she had managed to stay in her chair until through it all, until the jubilant cheers of the insurgents filtered through the microphone. She had owed them that much, to have someone who cared praying for them. It destroyed her, even now that they probably assumed they were alone.

She didn't remember falling out her chair as shrieks and sobs tore from her throat. The first thing she could recall through the haze she was on her knees in the middle of the computer hub. A Marine clutched her tight and whispered soothingly to her as they rocked on the floor. The medics had been forced to sedate her, for three days she laid in the infirmary in a guilty haze. After lunch on the third day, she had gone straight to her quarters and began designing a new com system. One so heavily encrypted it would take months if not years to crack. Encryption done she then turned to the range receivers, it took nearly three months and her every free moment to design a range extender that would permeate cave walls and tunnels. Six months later she had been able to jerry rig one. A small point-to-point range extender/amplifier no bigger that a stick of gum, so it would not impede movement. Not even a year after that the navy was distributing them to every base. The ARB407 had not been invented in time to save it namesake but the Army Ranger Battalion 407 had saved lives, it was a legacy they deserved.

That terrible day still haunted her; at the prep for every operation, she would remember them. A wonderful group of men who had promised to buy her, her first beer when they returned from that mission. Firmly pushing those thoughts away, she rubbed wearily at her burning eyes. Reaching over she rummaged through her desk drawer for her eye drops. Dripping two drops of cool saline into each bloodshot eye, she sighed in relief. Opening her them, she wiped her face of access moister and tossed the drops back in the drawer and slammed it closed.

A chirp from a neighboring monitor saved she from returning to drone footage. Rolling fluidly to the left, until she was seated in front of the beckoning screen she eyed the flashing red box. It was an alert on a text conversation the satellite had picked up. Unconcerned she expanded the window. More times than not alerts like this were false positives, the program noticed certain key words she had entered into the search parameters. She got more hits that are false in texts between cheating spouses than anything else. Sometimes they even proved entertaining. The things some people said to each other when they thought no one was watching was laughable.

And considering she had very little to entertain her here, she had to take her laughs where she could get them.

Resting her chin on her fist, she scrolled through the text.

Her stomach heaved.

There in bold flashing red bold characters was OPERATION: SONG BIRD and GEMINI 06070013 050039.

Words that normally would mean nothing when used separately were panic attack inducing when used together. With no relation between the words and numbers, Maddie knew this was no false alarm. Which could only mean one thing, someone knew.

What clinched, proving to anyone on base this was no innocent flub.

WIZARD

That was in escapable clear. Eyes wide, she bit her lip and concentrated solely on the numbers.

06070013

06-07-2013

0500

5:00 am

39

Maddie frowned; she didn't know what to make of it. The other number and been self-explanatory, but thirty-nine? It wasn't a time. It could not be coordinates, which need both longitude and latitude. It sure as hell wasn't temperature. Her mind swirled, what in OZ could represent the number thirty-nine? It wasn't a cipher so what in hell did it mean?

Thirty-nine

Thirty-nine

The answered crashed into her with the force of a sledgehammer. Thirty-six military personnel was on base, and with the guards, it rounded out to an even forty. But for anyone to even know about OZ's existence let alone its location it would have had come from someone who had been on base. And since the last incoming or outgoing team had been over eleven months prior. She was the last one to be transferred into base. Transferred back to the post created for her. Moreover, the security team had come with her. Forty men minus a traitor was thirty-nine.

There was a rat in OZ.

Springing up from her chair, nearly toppling it to ground in her haste, she lifted the phone from the cradle. She had never used this phone before and she'd been completely fine with that. No one ever wanted to have cause to lift the scarlet red receiver from its cradle. Finger pressing the gleaming red button at the top, activating the intercom. On a normal base, her next step would have been to alert the commanding officer, but here in OZ rallying the troops came first.

Maddie heard the static crackle and click as the base wide intercom sprung to life. That in itself would alert the camps occupants of danger. No one ever used the loud speaker in OZ. It was a base of few, and no one minded loping lazily about to find someone.

Breathing deeply though her nose, screwing up her courage she spoke. "Attention all base personnel…possible RED ALERT. Possible incoming Insurgent attack at 0500. Initiate lock down protocol."

With the re-enforced walls of her bunker, she could not hear the echo of her voice, but it certainly echoed hauntingly in her mind. Slamming the phone home, she moved a monitor over and called up the base cameras. Rangers and SEALs alike poured out of quarters, the rec tent, and the mess, moving at a sprint to the armory. Someone banged on her door, but she ignored it.

The ominous red phone rang. Snatching it up, she heard the curt voice of Colonel Grant Morgan, the moment she touched the receiver to her ear.

The pounding on the door continued.

"The mission has been aborted. Team 1 is on immediate recall. ETA three hours." She blanched, glancing at the clock hang above her desk. She jerked back in surprise it was already 0300. How could four hours have passed so quickly? Regardless of that, the SEALs would have almost been at the Bravo site. They would have to hike back down the mountain, make the four-mile journey to the evac and the trip back. Fact was they probably wouldn't be here in time.

"Initiate dungeon protocol immediately."

With a click, the dial tone roared in her ear.

Dungeon protocol. The thought alone cause a shiver of fear to course down her spine. On wobbly legs, she tripped over to her dining table. Where her empty tray remained. Kicking the chair aside with the toe of her combat boot she lifted up a framed picture of her with her parents as she wore her Olympic gold with an ecstatic grin. Beneath the frame was a slate gray metal box, with a gleaming silver key hole in the center. Grasping one of the long silver chains, she wore around her neck, and pulled it up and over her head. Pausing for a moment to untangle her crucifix, with shaking hands she inserted the key into the lock.

Opening the panel, she eyes the switches on levers that were her only defense against the insurgents.

The glowing green switch sent a current of electricity coursing through the steel security door. Giving at nasty shock to anyone that came knocking.

She flipped it.

The incessant pounding stopped. Someone had probably expected her to issue a warning. Protocol however dictated that once the red alert is sounded, no one was granted access to the bunker or its inhabitant. More still, she wasn't in a very charitable mood all thing considered and silently hoped it had been the leak stupidly pounding on her door. No, she wouldn't let them in, not by the hair on her chiny chin chin.

The next switch would engage a thick metal latch that would offer temporary security against a hard entry.

Click.

In the silence, she could hear the shhh, as the bar slid home.

The final switch would activate a failsafe carbon dioxide scrubber, just in case she was forced to wait out the insurgents.

Click.

All that was left now was the lever, which when pushed down would cut her off from the main power grid and switch to six back up generators set in the foundation. Standing on tiptoe, she grasped the cold cylindrical metal and pulled with all her might. Having never been used the stiff hinges fought her, but finally folded downward.

Maddie had never been in a precarious situation such as this before. When she had been briefed on protocol, she had assumed she would be a shaking blubbering mess, cowering inside her bunker. However, it was almost as if she had thrown a failsafe switch inside herself. Which was surprising with her sometime crippling anxiety, but it seemed all thought had been diverted; she was driven purely on instinct alone. Her mind seemed to sharpen and as if on autopilot, she moved back to her monitors. The final stage of protocol required that all file be scrubbed from the hard drive. Upon initiation, a live stream would connect with the satellite orbiting over the area and transmitted back to Naval Intelligence for appropriate distribution.

Madeline would do it, just not yet. Once the dissolution code was entered, nothing could be stopped or retrieved. She need only a second to engage it. First, however she was going to lay some breadcrumbs.

Hours ticked slowly by, with no sign of SEAL team one. It was now a quarter to five. Fifteen minutes and they could very well be under attack. On the screen, she watched as the men stood stock still in their positions. The night vision view hurt her eyes but she refused to turn away, even as she stood, swung her quiver of the chair and overhead.

The familiar weight on her back was soothing. Just like when she was at home when she would spend all day on in the yard a bow in her hands and a target in view. Reaching beneath the desk, she lifted the bow onto her lap. Finger trailing along the length of the bowstring, before giving it a pluck.

WHOOP.

The red warning light flared, painting the bland white walls of the bunker. On the screen to her left, a flashing alert appeared on her screen.

PARIMATER BREECHED

WESTERN QUADRENT

They were early.

The night vision footage showed glowing white-hot blobs scattering, kicking up sand tearing through buildings.

Bullets.

OZ was under attack.

All the secrecy had been for nothing.

Coming up from the east and south were eight armored Humvees. To the north, a low flying chopper came into view. For one amazing moment, she thought it was the returning SEALs. That hope was quickly doused when another came in from the west.

Sand flew up in showers as the first chopper opened fire. Peppering the ground below with forty-eight caliber shells. Biting into buildings and tearing through the metal like butter and striking human flesh and bone with gruesome results. Not for the first time, Maddie wondered just how well they knew the layout of base. All heavy artillery was directed away bunker. The insurgents riding in the Humvees would soon engage the swarm of ten circling the bunker. Maddie pressed her lips into a firm angry line as they fell. A group of soldiers engaged the insurgents coming in by Humvee.

Maddie very nearly cried out in glee, when a solider hoisted an RPG onto his shoulder. With a squeeze of the trigger, eight Humvees were down to six. The fire burning white against the sand and twisted metal flipped end over end across the dunes. A second RPG brought down the hovering chopper in the north. Striking the swirling blades and exploding in midair. The force of which rocked the re-enforced walls. Showers of burning bits of body, fuel and metal fell heavily to earth.

The walls trembled.

To the south, a surge of rebels spilled from the still whole vehicles, while to the chopper to the west opened fire.

After that, they were quickly over whelmed. Fighting so fiercely against overwhelming odds. They knew they would fail but they were going to take those cowardly bastards with them. It was the American way. For every American that fell two would fall for the opposition. It was obvious the insurgents had never faced such fury before. Despite their valiant efforts, the battle soon crept toward the bunker. Standing she slung the bow across her back fingers flying across the keyboard.

SONG BIRD

GEMINI

WIZARD

SHELBURNE

Two outgoing missives, soared across the world one bound for DC the other for Wi Kiki.

Breadcrumbs laid, she entered the fifteen-digit code and initiated the final step if Dungeon. The screen went black, stark white letters jumping off the screen.

INIATING DUNGEON

INTERNAL HARD-DRIVE CORRUPTED

On the monitors, the white blurs of bullets ceased. Twisted bodies lie in the sand spilling blood onto the sand. She squeezed her eyes tightly shut. Another massacre that happened right in front of her, that she had been powerless to stop. The chopper landed in the center of camp in triumph. Now closer in closer range she could identify the model, a MI 24 Desert Rescue. A Russian helicopter. The Humvees rammed through the gates unimpeded.

Coming into the camera angle a man stepped from behind the bunker and greeted the insurgents. Maddie's blood boiled. There was a traitor in the Secret Service.

And for the fort time in history a member of the first family would fall to terrorists.

The First Daughter was now in enemy hands.


End file.
